


As Bright As the Sun

by SambliongPalpatine



Category: Troy (2004)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Love, M/M, Mind the warnings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:55:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23618626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SambliongPalpatine/pseuds/SambliongPalpatine
Summary: An AU where Achilles got taken by Paris and everything snowballs from there.Yes, Paris is the villain.
Relationships: Achilles/Hector (Troy 2004)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 27





	As Bright As the Sun

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!
> 
> First, I hope you are all keeping safe and that you are spending the time learnjng something new. 
> 
> I was exploring a forgotten folder in my old computer and found this piece I work with a friend ages ago. 
> 
> There are three chapters, as my works tend to have, and I’ll publish them when my friend edits them. 
> 
> This is a tiny bitsy bit different to what I usually write but I still hope you enjoy it and maybe toss your blind writer a comment and/or a kudo... pretty please.

As Bright as the Sun

I wake up chained to a wall with no recollection of how I got here. If I try to think about it I would find myself coming out empty handed. 

Who even managed to do this to me?

The last thing I remember is Briseis welcoming me with a cup of wine...

Oh. 

The wine, of course. I smile ruefully at that thought because here I was, thinking she and I were having something special, how wrong of me. 

As I am about to ask myself where am I, a door opens and I can hear footsteps approaching. 

"Oh, so you are finally awake," an accented voice cheerfully says. 

I squint into the dim-lit room to see a lean figure dressed in trojan attire looming around. 

"Seems like it," I casually reply. 

The voice chuckles. "This is so exciting!” it says, in true excitement. 

"What is?" I indulge him, though I already know the answer. 

The person comes closer so I can finally see who it is. “Prince Paris,” I snark. 

He smiles broadly. “In the flesh,” he walks closer and stops a few feet away. “And to answer your question, it is exciting because I manage to trap the great and mighty Achilles. Now, for me that is something to get excited about,” he says. 

I try my chains, testing the material and if there are any weak spots but the chains just rattle without even moving an inch out of their hooks. 

The prince snorts. “I wouldn’t exhaust myself if I were you, this steel is strong, not even that comrade of yours... the one my brother killed in battle, would have been able to break them,” he says calmly. 

I’m tiring of this chatter so I opt for moving the conversation forwards. “What do you want from me, Prince?” I try to sound as aloof and calm as I can without betraying my uneasiness. 

The young Prince shrugs and starts pacing around. “End the war, save my country,” he starts motioning idly with his hand. “There is no better way than to destroy the enemy’s better warrior,” he shrugs nonchalantly. “I know what it is said; that you are indestructible so... I will break your spirit. While I find a way to break your body,” the smile he gives now is nothing short of predatory. 

“Well, you are certainly welcome to try,” I scoff, bored. 

The Prince laughs with actual mirth. “This attitude will not save you, brave Achilles,” he turns towards the door and before walking out, he turns his head and winks. “Now rest and enjoy your new accommodations,” he closes the door and darkness engulfs me. 

I pull at the chains again but they won’t give. I sigh and slump against the wall behind me. I wonder what he meant when he said he would try to break my spirit. 

I cannot even get up to pace the room, at least I can stretch my legs in front of me and let my mind descent further into its depths. 

I’m guessing Priam and Hector don’t know about this tirade, they are too honorable for this sort of... proceedings. Hector would probably rather fight me on the battlefield. Priam loves his younger son too much for his own good, but he wouldn’t agree with this. He is a fair man. 

If Hector were to find out about this, would he help me? Would he let me go like I did that day at Apollo’s temple? He probably would. That would be the end either of us deserve; clashing swords with a worthy and skilled oponet, both knowing what awaited them. Not this cowardice. 

There is no point in wondering about it, he probably won’t know about my being here. Until it is too late. 

Now, in the pitch-black room I can finally admit to myself that I have a fancy for Hector, ever since I saw him at a banquet someone had orchestrated back in Grece, a long time ago. I did not say anything then, I was so enamored with a courtesan girl and paid Hector no mind. 

Then I reencountered him here, in Apollo’s temple and he was still brave and beautiful and I still fancied him. Which is a pity because now I will never have a chance to indulge myself. 

Because now I am the prisoner of Priam’s younger, unskilled, idiotic, dishonest and dishonorable, son. Am I really fated to die at the hands of this Princeling? I close my eyes and pray to whichever God who might be hearing to help me get out of here. 

I receive no answer.

•

I lose all sense of time, being incarcerated in darkness makes that to one’s senses; not even the slightest sliver of light filtering through the door nor the faintest of noises can be heard. 

I have a small idea of the passage of time thanks to the meals, they feed me two times; somewnere in mid-day and night. I have had my first meal of this day hours ago. 

The door opens and closes. “Greetings, Achilles,” a cheery voice says. A voice I dread to hear. 

“Prince,” I neutrally say. 

A torch is placed on the wall’s holder, illuminating the small room somewhat; there is a tapestry along the wall in front of me, a table and a chair. 

Prince Paris places a chair in front of me and sits comfortably. “I have been inquiring after you,” he eyes me curiously. “No tidings, no family. You bed every woman you can. I heard you even force one once,” he raises an eyebrow and looks disgusted. 

I stare at him for a moment, trying not to betray anything. “Who told you that?” I put reins to my temper before it can make this worse. 

Paris shrugs. “Someone who knows you well.”

I snort. “No one knows me well.” 

If they did, they wouldn’t be saying this things. I might enjoy defeating men in battle, slaughtering inocent and unarmed priests, but never in my life I would force a woman- or anyone- to bed me. Never. Unlike you, I don’t say. 

Paris leans forward. “You deny the charge?”

I huff but I give no answer. There is none that would satisfy him and I am certainly not playing his game. 

Paris clicks his tongue. “You are so cocky and prideful,” he stands up and pushes the chair into the wall. “I don’t like that.”

He crouches in front of me, inspecting my face, critically. He touches his fingertips softly to my skin, as if measuring something. Then he smiles and nods to himself. 

He brings a small dagger upwards and slices my face; a clean cut that goes from my right temple till the tip of my chin. It hurts, a lot. 

The blade burns, which can’t mean anything good. Fire is never good. 

“I know what is said of you, Myrmidon. That is why I have read upon scarring and I’ve learnt of ways to make a wound scar,” he smiles obnoxiously. 

I bite the inside of my cheek as to not let out a pained moan as blood trickles down my face and neck. I can handle pain, I have gotten i injured many times before. I always heal. 

But burns are something different. 

Meanwhile, the Prince is calling upon someone at the other end of the door. 

After a moment, another man comes inside the room. He is tall and broad-shouldered, hair tied back and is clad in a skirt and a maroon tunic. 

“This is Andros,” the Prince introduces, as if it were a social visit. The Prince smiles and pats the man on the back. “Andros’ partner lost his life at the end of your sword so, as you can imagine, he would be wanting a bit of reprieve,” he winks. 

I swallow thickly. “Oh?” I feign ignorance even when I suspect what this is about. 

The Prince laughs and shakes his head. “Oh, you will see,” he turns to the man and says something in trojan before walking to the door and walking away without saying another word. 

The other man, Andros, gives me a hatdred look with a spark of... hunger. “Well, brave Achilles, I promise you will not enjoy this,” he doesn’t smile as he stalks towards me, stroking himself. 

“What makes you think I will let you do this?” I sneer. 

There is nothing I can do but that for no reason means I’m going to let them do whatever he want without a fight. 

The trojan smirks cruely. “And what makes you think there is anything you can do to help it?” he spits, his voice raspy. 

He crouches down and I manage to kick him once which only serves to anger the man. He retaliates by backhanding me across the face; it’s directly against the wound on my cheek. The pain is exquisite. 

I manage to spit the blood on his face. He only grins wolfishly before he forces me to lay on my stomach and before I can react, chains my legs to the hooks on the floor, lifts my skirt and all but penetrates me. 

“Don’t you dare to enjoy it, this isn’t for your pleasure,” he spits. 

Pain flares all through my body, it feels like fire burning my insides. The man grunts as he thrusts hard and fast inside me. “Don’t worry about it,” I croak through my gritted teeth. As if I would enjoy being raped. 

Now I can taste blood from where I bit too hard on my cheek but I don’t scream. I won’t give them that pleasure. I won’t give Prince Paris the pleasure of knowing he made a crack on my spirit. 

If he is going to break me, I won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he succeeded. 

When the man comes he just stands up, unties my legs and leaves. 

Leaving me laying there, with his fluids and blood trailing down my thighs, my ass burning and blood still pouring from the gash on my face. 

There is no dinner delivered, and if it were I wouldn’t have been able to eat it. 

•

The next time I see the Prince is four days later. I sit nonchalantly against the wall, as if nothing had happened. As if my body wasn’t in agony. As if there wasn’t blood and slightly charred skin on my face. As if there wasn’t evidence of my violation down my body. 

“Hello,” the Prince greets, not as cheerful as always. 

I bow my head in return. “Prince,” I speak calmly.   
“Not that happy to see me today?” I smile a fake thin-lipped smile. 

The young Prince sighs dramatically and launches himself into the chair. “The war, of course. My brother was wounded today,” he says, tiredly. 

Something tightness inside me which I am not expecting. Hector is hurt, hopefully not mortally. “Sorry about that, will he survive?” I try to sound conversationally. 

Paris nods. “Do not worry yourself, Achilles. My brother will survive,” he leans forward and grimaces when he looks at me. “People can’t see you like this,” he says in disgust. Then he cheers up a little when he touches the wound on my face. “Nice scabbing, it is a pity I have to open it again,” he truly looks bother by the thought. 

He brings the burning dagger up and retraces the pattern on my face, I swallow the pained noise that wanted to escape my lips and close my eyes. 

“Better now, red looks good on you,” he comments, putting the dagger away before standing up. “Now, I will bring someone to clean you and make you presentable. I have someone out there that is dying to meet you.”

I take a deep breath and prepare myself for what I know is coming now. 

Before opening the door, he realizes something and turns quickly around. “Oh, forgive my manners, I never asked you if you enjoy bedding men,” he looks at me as if he really were concerned. 

I shrug, truth is I only had sex with a man once and I had been the one to top. I look back at him and smirk. 

Prince Paris smiles and turns back to the door, and makes a demand in his native tongue and after a moment a servant comes in with a basin and rags and kneels in front of me. 

I make an effort not to flinch when he starts trailing the wet cloth down my body because he is actually not hurting me so I stay still and let this go on. 

After the servant is done, he stands up and with a bow he leaves this cage of mine. 

The young prince gives me a satisfied look and wordlessly moves to the door again, motioning for someone to enter. An older man with hard, cold eyes and tall, sturdy frame walks in.   
“Achilles, this is Sandros,” he introduces with a smirk, he says nothing else and walks out. 

No one should be submitted to this, no one. No one deserves to be humiliated like this, not even me. To try and brake a man’s spirit goes beyond any malice known in the battlefield; there both parties have the same opportunities, they can defend themselves and fight on even grounds. 

But Paris knows there are no equal opportunities nor even field on a fight with me. 

The man, Sandros, takes his time getting naked, apparently he wants to enjoy this and he is   
avoiding my eyes. Then he kneels beside me and I cringe inwardly when he goes to grab my leg so I kick him. But gods, it hurts. The effort of lifting my leg pulls my back-muscles which is agonizing. 

However, the man doesn’t bat an eye and unceremoniously flips me into my stomach, more like the other time. 

But unlike that time, this man does not keep quiet.   
“Oh look at you, the mighty Achilles, who loves pretending he is a semi-god, better than anyone else. Yet here he is, tied up and ready for me,” he laughs, an empty, awful sound. 

He enters me in one move, burning my insides and starts mercilessly thrusting in and out. And if that wasn’t enough, he starts biting me. Besides the blood trickling down my back I can feel his rage fueled by sorrow bubbling beneath his skin. 

Unexpectedly, he sneaks a hand down my body and tugs at my flaccid cock, this seems to anger him for some reason. “Oh so I am not of your liking, mighty Achilles? This too rough for you?” he bites me again, lapping at the blood oozing from the wound. 

I close my eyes and take a deep breath, as to refrain from talking and saying something that would anger the man so I bite the inside of my cheek, the taste of blood will never leave me now. 

When he finishes, he stands and dresses, giving a last laugh before closing the door loudly. 

I am Achilles, I will never give the satisfaction. My body might be broken and that can’t be prevented or disguised but the brokenness of my spirit can. 

That day I don’t eat either. 

•

As time goes by and the torture continues, I find the pain is easier to endure.

Prince Paris’ smiles look strainer and he looks more tired yet he always has the energy to brag about his plan and how goot it is, nearly ‘godsproof’ he called it once. 

The war rages on and I have come to accept that I will not see the light of day again. Prince Paris keeps egging me on but despite it all I have not given into the feelings of despair and hopelessness, I instead maintain my usual demeanor. 

Today, the Prince comes with an eerie smile that I dislike. “Well, guess what? Your comrades are starting to believe you have betrayed them,” he sighs happily, as if this were part of a plan that is going accordingly. 

My heart skips three beats. “What?” I can’t help myself but ask because in all honesty, what is happening? 

The Prince snickers and drags the chair in front of me and slumps into it. “Oh my dear Achilles, you haven’t been seen for two months and someone said they had seen your horse galloping towards Troy,” there is a glint of something in the man’s eyes. Something that doesn’t bare anything good. 

I huff, trying to convey boredom. “I don’t even own a horse, so it’s an interesting accusation.”

Prince Paris shakes his head in disappointment then he remembers something and cheers up a little. “Oh I almost forget myself!” he jumps from the chair and kneels in front of me before taking the familiar burning dagger out and reopens the scab on my face, after the third time I’ve gotten used to this, now I know to expect the pain so it doesn’t hurt anymore. 

Paris smiles almost friendly at me and I cringe internally, I don’t want to see him smile ever again. He places a hand on my shoulder in what is meant to be a reassuring gesture. “As a token of my appreciation I decided to give you a free night,” he stares seriously at me for a moment before breaking into laughter. “Oh Achilles, truth is I wanted to have you myself but now you are so disgusting I feel no desire for you anymore,” he stands up and takes a few steps away. “At least I’ve left my mark on you already,” he motions to my face. 

“I have many other battle scars, Prince. I have survived all of them,” I say, looking him in the eye. 

He sneers. “That is about to be seen,” he shrugs and walks towards the door. “I will see you in a few days. Enjoy your time alone,” with a last wink he walks out the door. 

I sigh in relief and gently touch my fingertip to the newly opened wound on my face and wince. Why did the gods make me great if this was to be my end? The effort of concealing the true depth of the damage left by Paris is taking a toll on me. If I weren’t stubborn I would probably have given up since the beginning. 

I have lost, however, all hope of being freed. None of the men that have raped me looked prone to helping me and the man who feeds me doesn’t even give me the opportunity to thank him for his services. 

I let my head fall against the wall and breathe in deeply. All the pride I felt once, my arrogance because of my beauty and skills, are gone. I don’t expect any woman would like to bed me now and I certainly would never let any man have me again. If I were to go free. 

I, who once was the greatest warrior, am now helpless. 

My body and my spirit are hurting; some would be permanent scars, others may fade, and yet I have no doubt that I will never be the same. 

I will not shed tears, not for the pain. Not for Paris. 

•

When I hear the sound of something sliding open and the rustle of fabric, I prepare myself for the torture that I know is coming. A few days have passed, I think and Paris is surely aware of it. 

So I am more than surprised when nothing comes. And then a torch illuminates it all and I close my eyes at the sudden light. I am so used to the darkness that light is hurtful. 

“Oh by the gods!” a female voice cries out. 

A voice I, as of now,had thought I would never hear again. One I wished not to, too. 

“What are you doing here?” I spit. “Come to mock and brag about how we should fear those gods of yours, have you?” I snarl. 

Briseis kneels before me; eyes wide with horror, mouth open, ready to say something then closes it and finally opens it again. “Achilles,” she starts, eyes searching my face, frowning at the wound. “I didn’t betray you. I saw Paris come this way so many times and now that he is elsewhere... I took the chance to come see...” she trails off and lowers her head and fidgets with her hands. 

I scoff and glare at her. “Save that for someone who believes you,” I cooly say. 

She sighs and shakes her head before raising it back up, her eyes sad. “I am going to help you get out of here. That gash on your face needs looking after,” she hesitates, probably nervous to continue. “Did- did Paris do this to you?” she bites her lower lip. 

I sigh and shrug. “Maybe. May your gods help you in getting me out of here.”

She raises a hand and brings it closer to the unscarred part of my face but I jerk my head out of reach. I see hurt flash in her eyes, she nods and stands up. 

“I will find a way, you will see,” she smiles tentatively before taking the torch from its holder then she pushes the tapestry away and slides a secret door open. She turns to look at me and winks before disappearing. 

My remnants of hope try to rekindle but I blow them off. Why would she want to help me? If she didn’t betray me, who did? 

I don’t want to think about this so I just curl as much as my body allows without straining and jolts of pain going through my back, and I sleep. 

•

I feel cold and I am shivering; my clothes are too torn after the last visit, I have a split lip and my hand hurts where the man twisted hard enough to sprain. 

Patroclus is dead, or so Paris said. Pain tugs at my heart; he is, was, so young and with all his life ahead of him. And I wasn’t there. I probably won’t ever be again. 

Briseis, as I had thought, hasn’t come back and I’m not surprised because I never expected her to. I still wish I could have fought Hector, a great fighter against a great fighter but that won’t happen now. 

Maybe I am not the great warrior I used to be anymore. 

It must be closer to dawn now because they had given me my second meal a while ago so I can’t help cringing to the sound of stone sliding and fabric rustling. 

“Achilles?” a man asks, shocked. 

I just nod, I’m tired and my throat feels clogged. 

“Oh by the gods,” the same voice says softly. “Briseis was right, you need a doctor,” a hand ghosts over my scarred skin and I don’t have the energy to move away. 

The warm hand settles gently on my arm. I flinch and try to get as far as I can because I can’t. 

The man retracts his hand as fast as he can. Achilles, forgive me. I didn’t realise- forgive me,” he hurries to apologize. 

I close my eyes, berating myself because it is obvious that the man has not come to hurt me but I just- 

“Can you walk?” the man speaks quietly from a few steps away. 

What a stupid question, of course I can’t. “N-no,” I manage to breathe out. 

“Alright, alright. Forgive me, this might hurt but I have to get you out of here,” the man says. 

What exactly does that mean? I can’t ask because I can’t find the words and then pain surges all over my body when I am being lifted off the ground into somebody’s arms, I manage to hold back the scream of pain, though. 

I struggle for him to put me back down, I don’t want him having me in this weak and helpless position. But my body is in agony so I just stop struggling. It doesn’t matter anymore if he hurts me or not. 

There is nothing left to soil. There is nothing left to break. 

“Fuck. I’m sorry, but you said you couldn’t walk and I am certainly not leaving you here. Sorry it took me this long, there is a war to fight,” the man tries to chuckle but it comes out more like a broken sound. 

Oh. Wait, is this man...? “Hector?” I keep my eyes closed in fear of it being an hallucination. 

Then we are inside the tunnel and the torchlight confirms my suspicion. The man looks down at me and smiles a little. 

“Yes, who else would come rescue their enemy?” he frowns at me. 

“Hades, maybe,” I say managing a breathy sound meant to be a huff. 

He spares a quick worried glance down at me. “Hades comes for no one,” he says, trying to sound light. 

“No,” I cough a little, I feel shivers go down my body and I try to fight the impulse of pushing this Prince away. “He would not.”

My body is in agony; my face stings, my backside burns and there is something trailing down my leg which I hope Hector has not noticed. 

“Maybe he would make an exception for a demi-god like you,” he speaks gently, tightening his hold on me. 

A fit of shivers rack my body again and I press into Hector’s body, searching his warmth. 

“By Zeus, you are burning up!” he curses and starts walking faster. 

I feel my head spinning, my eyes swimming and unfocused. I smile up at the man when he lowers worried eyes on me. “Your eyes are beautiful,” I blurt out before the darkness finally claims me. 

•

I gain and lose consciousness   
more often than not; I catch flashes of movement and I feel something soft beneath me, something cool and soothing against my face. The pain is gone. 

Later it comes back; my body feels on fire and there is pain, so much pain and I hear myself mumbling and whimpering because it hurts. Every time there are soft hands on me, soothing and comforting. 

“Hector...” I whimper feverishly. 

A hand cards gently through my hair. “I am here,” a voice whispers, reassuringly. 

I give a half-nod before going into the darkness again. 

••

When I finally regain complete consciousness, the sun is shining proudly through the window. 

I am lying on my stomach, which is somewhat uncomfortable but when I try to turn over agony shoots through my body. 

"I wouldn’t do that if I were you," a feminine voice speaks calmly. 

I turn my head to my left where I find a brunette woman sitting on a chair, staring at me with curiosity. 

"Who are you?" I ask, hostile. 

The woman lets out a soft breath. "Rumors make you justice, it seems," she says, raising an eyebrow. "I am Andromache," as if that has any meaning to me. "Hector’s wife."

Oh. So this isn’t a dream, I was really rescued. 

"And why are you here?" I ask, trying to sound more neutral. 

She sighs and reclines back in her chair. "Because you wouldn’t accept Briseis help," she explains with a twinkle in her eye. 

"What do you mean?" I can’t help but ask. 

Andromache sends me an inquisitive glance. "You were delirious, don’t you remember? You said she betrayed you, you wouldn’t let her touch you," she noncommittaly explains. 

I swallow, not knowing if I should pose my next question. I have many questions and yet the only one I want the answer to is about Hector. 

She must have seen it on my face though because she answers. "Hector is reunited with his father," is what she says. 

"How long am I supposed to be like this?" I grit through my teeth. 

She gives me a pitying look and I hate her for it. "A week, the healer said," she answers softly. 

I barely nod but remain silent otherwise. I have nothing else to say; I don’t know her, I don’t trust her. It still feels... comforting to have someone there. 

"Are you going to stay here all day?" I ask, neutrally. 

She is a very impassive woman; she just studies me without moving from her seat and finally shrugs. "Someone has to." 

I scoff. "Why? Don’t you trust me? Do you think I would escape? Not that you could stop me if I tried." I say defensively. 

She sighs as if she had won the entire war on her own. "Achilles, you are injured, I wouldn’t even have to try. That is exactly why I am here, to help you. Because you do need the help," she looks at me sternly. 

I want to argue, yell and throw her out of the room. But I am tired and hurting so I close my eyes and let the darkness drag me down again. 

•

When I next awake, Andromache is gone and in her stead there is Hector. 

Finally. 

He looks drained; dark circles under his eyes, paler than before and his curls falling all over his face. 

"Hector," I croak in greeting. 

The man startles, he has probably been dozing on the chair, but promptly composes himself. "Achilles," he returns the greeting. 

I am still lying on my front, a position that makes me feel oddly vulnerable which in turn makes me feel uncomfortable. Stil, I lay unmoving as to not alert the prince to my discomfort. 

So inconspicuously as I can, I try to roll onto my back until pain shoots up my spine and I cannot help the cry to rip out my throat. 

"Oh no, do not do that," a gentle, deep voice speaks from somewhere near. 

When I have calmed down enough that my breathing is regular again and I open my eyes and discover Hector knelt at the edge of the bed in which I lay. He looks worried, his hands poised as if he wanted to touch me but he is refraining from doing so. 

For a blurry moment I don’t understand why he is hesitating until- oh. 

"Yeah, I realize that now," I mumble, shifting on the bed to get more comfortable. 

Hector swallows and stands, walking to a table on the corner to pour a glass of water that he brings back to the bed and offering it to me. "You should drink some."

I raise an eyebrow at him because surely he is aware of my predicament. I won’t be able to do this without help however Hector still hesitates. And that bothers me, I can handle it. 

"Hector." I prompt him. 

The man shakes his hesitation off and with gentle but firm hands he helps me prop up enough to manage a few swallows of cool water before the straim gets too much and I have to lay back down. 

"Thank you," I say, smiling faintly. 

He retournes the smile and moves back to the chair, sighing tiredly. 

I sigh myself and burrow my face on the pillow for a moment before turning back to look at him. "What is happening with the war, Prince?" I dare to ask. 

The man’s face falls and for a   
moment he seems older than his years. "You know Agamemnon, his greed has no limits. I fear this war will go on forever," he admits somewhat absentmindedly. "At the end there will be nothing but ashes and dust," he adds in a murmur. 

"I was not aware you could turn so philosophical," I tease, maybe trying to lift his spirits even a little. 

He chuckles; mouth twisting in the corners and eyes crinkling beautifully and I wish I could kiss him. But I can’t, so I make do with the pride I feel at having made him smile. 

He sobers quickly up, rubs his forehead in what I deemed as a nervous gesture. "Achilles," his voice trembles when he starts, "the doctor will come by to see you later but I cannot be here. So, my wife agreed on coming, is that okay? Or would you rather Brieis-"

I hurry to interrupt him before he can finish that sentence. "No, your wife is okay."

He sighs yet again but nods. "Eventually you will have to talk to Briseis," he says. 

I shrug as best I can. "Not today, not now," I concede. 

•

When the healer comes that evening he says I still have one week of bedrest, he also leaves a salve for my back that I am to apply every night until next he comes back. 

Andromache sits at the end of the bed, staring at me with something akin to a mixture of sadness, pity and understanding. Somehow it bothers me less than it probably should. 

"I can do this for you, if you allow me to," she offers, a determined expression on her face. 

I quirk an eyebrow at her. "What makes you think I need any help on taking care of myself?" I ask, sneering at her. 

She is unfazed by my attitude and raises an eyebrow of her own. "Because not even you can reach that far behind yourself and have it be comfortable," she replies casually, smirk in place. 

I can see why Hector fell in love with her; besides beautiful she is smart, witty and brave. And she is right of course, I wouldn’t be able to apply the salve myself and have it reach the places it has to reach. 

"Alright." I say, granting her this. "I trust you know what to do,” I add tauntingly without really knowing why. 

Her face loses all traces of humor, instead stares at me, hard. "You are not the first victim of rape I have aided, Myrmidon.” Andromache says before standing up and leaving the room. 

•

A new kind of nightmare has added itself to my already extensive catalogue. Because now I do not only see the men I have killed no. Now I also see the sneering and laughing faces of Paris and my other tormentors. 

Whatever sleep I could find before was granted by the wine and women I used to have at my disposition. 

I have nothing of that now. And, I have come to realize, nor would I want them had I access to them. 

Now I am sometimes privy to few hours of sleep. Some days. 

Questions have been plaguing my mind ever since I woke up here and I have not had the chance to place any of them because Hector has not come to see me in two days. 

There are three days left of my bedrest and Andromache has not been able to tell me what is to happen once that term is over. 

I hear the sound of the sliding of the door and the approaching footsteps, making me wonder who it is that comes see me at this time. 

“Prince?” I ask, as I see the man plop down on the chair. 

“I could not sleep,” he says, in lieu of an explanation. 

“So you thought to come and keep watch over me?” I tease. 

He clearly had tried to go to bed given the clothes he is wearing: loose, brown leggings and a blue soft tunic, his hair is unbraided and curling prettily around his face and he is barefoot. 

He has never been more beautiful. 

He smiles sheepishly, cards a hand through his hair and sighs. “You don’t seem to be in need of watching over,” he laughs a little. 

I study him for a moment; the slope of his shoulders, the fall of his brown hair, his bare-feet, his relaxed posture... and remember why I wanted him. 

If I ever had a chance of anything happening between us, now it’s gone. He wouldn’t want me, not- not like this. And I’m not sure I would be able to, either. 

“Hector,” I start, clearing my throat, “can I ask what am I to do after I recuperate?” I finally pose that question. 

Hector stays quiet, thoughtfully looking at me. “You are not a prisoner here, Achilles,” he replies gently. “If you want to leave you can. But I suggest you stay, maybe help me unmask my brother and the truth of his treachery,” he speaks this last part quietly. 

“First I would like to know what happen to my cousin,” I say, feeling the sudden grief take me. “Maybe try to find his body, give him the proper burial. “ I mumble. 

Hector raises an eyebrow. “What do you mean, your cousin’s body?” 

I frown at him in turn. “What do you mean what do I mean?” I ask confused. “Your brother told me he was killed-“ Oh. “He lied.” I breathe in realization. 

The prince gets up to start pacing the room, evidently frustrated, and just fumes. “Achilles,” he starts, his voice somewhat breathy. “I was there when Odysseus threw your cousin into the ship back to Larissa. A few of your men went with him,” he says, without stopping his pacing. 

And that frustrates me in turn because i cannot see him. But try to roll over is still painful so I refrained from trying. “Hector.” I content myself with a commanding tone to make him stop pacing. 

It has the intended effect; the man comes back to the chair and just plops down again. “I am sorry. I know I should have told you that he is safe, it is just that I had not expected Paris to use it as torture,” he admits in a defeated tone. 

“Hector.” I say again with my previous tone still. “What do you mean you were there?”

I wish I were in a different position to have this conversation, I feel oddly vulnerable and does not matter how much I try not to, I want to hide beneath the covers. But I am not a coward, I am not in the habit of showing weakness in front of potential enemies. Matter of said ‘enemy’ saved me aside. 

Hector shuts his mouth, face palling in the realization he probably has said too much. He drags a hand over his face and straightens his posture. “After you... disappeared, Odysseus found me. He wanted to know if the rumors of your being here as a willing guest and Greek desertor were true,” he pauses, sends me an apologetic look and goes on. "We suspected something had to be wrong but there was no sight nor word of you anywhere," he explains calmly. "When my cousin told me she had found you-" he stops again and sighs, lowering his eyes. "Achilles, forgive me. Forgive me for taking too long in rescuing you," and by the gods but he sounds so broken and he is giving me such a sad look that I want to punch him or hold him in my arms in equal parts. "There was a- particularly gruesome battle and I- I got derailed." 

I swallow the cocktail of emotions that are threatening to consume me whole and that I hope they are not showing on my face. "You should not be apologizing for a misdeed you had nothing to do with, Prince." I speak softly. 

Hector tries to muster a smile but manage only a twist of the lips. "That does not mean I am not sorry," he says honestly. 

I give a half-shrug. "You are forgiven, after all you did save me." I mumble, as sleep starts to take me. 

•

"Well, this is finally the last of it." Andromache announces as she pulls my tunic back down and pats me gently. "You will still have to wait for the healer though," she says and I could hear the smile on her voice. 

I smile a little, there is still some pain in my lower back and my face now has a pretty scar but I can finally move without problem and further pain. 

Andromache stands, dusting her dress. “Well, I think I will take my leave now,” she says, calmly. 

Apprehension, for some reason, overtakes me. I do not want to be alone. Surprisingly I enjoy this woman’s company. “No, stay.” I swallow and more subdued I add, “please.” 

She looks stunned at me for a moment. “Alright,” she concedes. “

I breathe in relief; everytime I was alone my thoughts tormented me with no outlet. 

“Why do you hate Briseis?” she asks gently. 

I actually give the question serious consideration. 

“I thought I loved her, I thought we could have something,” I confess, she has such an open, honest face that makes me trust her. “But then someone close to me betrayed me,” I sigh, deflating. 

“Oh Achilles,” she exclaims without pity. “Maybe you could let her explain her side,” she suggests. 

I sniffle, burying my face in the pillow for a moment before turning my head back to the woman. “Some other time.” I say, firmly but gently. 

She nods, a solemn expression on her face. “Would you want me to stay for when the healer comes?” she ask with a small smile. 

I nod. 

She chuckles wholeheartedly. “I can see the anticipation all over your face,” she says, shaking her head. "Men, you were not made for bedrest." 

"I do miss my sword." I confess, wistfully, wondering what was of my weapons. 

-

The healer finally gave me the clearing to leave the bed and I am taking advantage of it by walking the length of the room I am confined to as Andromache laughs at me from her perch on the chair. 

“It is a reprieve to see you like this,” she says, gently. 

I stop next to the window, stretching my muscles feels refreshing. Especially after believing I would never be able to do so again. 

The woman laughs softly, pushing some of her curls away from her face. 

I bow my head slightly in a gesture of respect. “Thank you,” I say honestly, “for everything you have done for me.” I know she didn’t have to help me, I am Greek and as such killed many of her people. Surely she must hate me and yet she kept me company all this time. 

“Achilles,” she starts, with shiny eyes and a trembling voice. “You-“

However, the nearly violent opening of the door and the hurried steps following interrupt her speech. 

I cannot hold the gasp of surprise when a disheveled Odysseus barges into the room followed by an equally distressed Hector. 

“Achilles,” the King pants out. “Forgive my unannounced visit and even when it gladdens me to see you well, I am afraid I have dire news,” he pauses to take deep breaths. “Achilles, Nestor is dead,” he says. 

For a moment I feared other news. “I don’t see why you would risk your life to come tell me this.” I say without emotion. 

Odysseus looks sternly at me. “You aren’t understanding, Achilles. He was murdered. With your dagger.”

***


End file.
